


A Solitary Stone in a Field of Flowers

by drakyrna



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Pre-Series, Thorin raised by hobbits, Young Bilbo Baggins, Young Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2242815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakyrna/pseuds/drakyrna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His hobbit parents find him in a field of wild flowers, weeping and hungry and lost. He has vague memories of shouts and a tear-filled face. A stump in the woods. He remembers his name is Thorin. His parents ask if he remembers anything more when he’s older. He doesn’t. They never ask again.</p><p>Or: Where Thorin is raised by Hobbits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Solitary Stone in a Field of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> I... don't normally write stuff unless I feel super inspired by an idea. And [dionysusmonster](http://dionysusmonster.tumblr.com) came up with this one. So they get complete credit for the inspiration :)
> 
> Based on this prompt:
> 
> "Bilbo raised by Dwarves is a nice AU BUT IMAGINE AN AU WHERE THORIN IS RAISED BY HOBBITS."
> 
> I found the idea precious beyond words, so I started making a list of what sorts of things Thorin would encounter as he grew up among hobbits. It... sort of turned into a narrative from there. Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

His hobbit parents find him in a field of wild flowers, weeping and hungry and lost. He has vague memories of shouts and a tear-filled face. A stump in the woods. He remembers his name is Thorin. His parents ask if he remembers anything more when he’s older. He doesn’t. They never ask again.

Thorin learns to go without boots, but he’s secretly self-concious about his ‘baby feet’ when around the other hobbit children. It takes a long time for the callouses to build up, but the self-conciousness never leaves him.

His parents are not sure what to do about the facial hair when it starts to really grow in, so they trim it down. It’s itchy as it grows back in, but he gets used to it.

He collects pretty rocks he finds as he grows, having little more than an instinctual feeling for their differences. But he likes them and they satisfy him in a way he can’t explain when asked.

He spends hours watching the local blacksmith in secret. He’s a gruff old hobbit who mostly works on and repairs farm tools and cookware, seen as a bit odd for his interest in working a forge instead of a field. What he doesn’t realize is that the solitary old man knows he’s there and secretly indulges his curiosity. He sympathizes a bit with the odd and lonesome boy, he knows what it’s like to be different. Eventually, he tells the boy to just come inside already and make himself useful and give those bellows a good pump.

He’s always loved wrestling with the hobbit boys, ever since he was small. Now, though, he always reminds himself to hold back. He still remembers the pained screams from the day he accidentally broke a boy’s arm with hardly much effort at all. He swore to his mother that day that he would never hurt person he cared for again.

He watches his friends grow older without him and he doesn’t understand why. He asks his papa one day. With a sad look in his eye, his father tells him it’s because dwarves age so much slower than hobbits.

Looking at the white of his papa’s hair and the deep age lines of his face, he realizes he’s going to outlive almost everyone dear to him that day. He doesn’t leave his room for 3 days.

He buries his papa not 3 years later and his mother that following spring, just shy of his 75th birthday.

He’s of age now and he’s asked the family of his old mentor if he might take over the abandoned blacksmith forge now that he’s grown. They agree as no one else seems interested in the craft. As he sweeps out the rotted debris, he tells himself he’ll make a fresh start of it with the forge.

He spends his nights dancing and carousing at the Green Dragon Inn over drinks after a day’s work at the forge, but he can never quite get the hang of hobbit singing. His voice is a bit too solemn and deep for the tunes the others sing. He tells himself it’s not an issue, even if he feels a bit melancholy for the reminder.

He meets young Bilbo when the tween comes to look in on him curiously while filling an order at the forge. Reminded of his own quiet curiosity as a youth, he invites the hobbit to come in to watch if he wants. Getting used to Bilbo’s constant chatter and questions during visits while he works takes some time, but if he feels a bit less lonely for it then it’s worth it.

Bilbo’s mother arrives at the forge one day, curious about the hobbit-raised dwarf her son speaks of so fondly. Thorin is awkward and uncertain at her playful invitation to tea, but the Missus Baggins is insistent and he gruffly accepts. The Baggins family are warm and welcoming to him when he arrives the following day, feeling very plain and simple in his time-worn waistcoat, stained shirt, and patched breeches. They wave off his excuses for his appearance and invite him inside.

He ends up staying until supper and it isn’t until several more similar visits that he suddenly realizes how much lighter he feels. He thanks Belladona solemnly one night before he takes his leave. The knowing look in her smile tells him she understands what he’s really thanking her for.

Bilbo is less chatty as he grows older, but he still comes by the forge to visit and they become comfortable in the quiet shared between them as he works. Sometimes Bilbo reads to him tales of adventure or of great battles. He finds his heart warmed by the other’s voice and wonders if the hobbit feels it as well.

Then the Fell Winter comes and he does what he can to help defend Hobbiton. Each hobbit lost to starvation or wolves feels like a personal failure and he begins teaching himself to forge crude weapons in hopes to protect those that remain.

With the arrival of rangers and the end of winter, he decides to seek out a weapons trainer. He bids Bilbo and his family farewell, promising he will return once he can protect them all. The forge remains cold and empty for 5 years. When he comes to call on the Baggins family upon his return, Bilbo is alone and much changed. He failed anyway.

Bitter and crushed, he becomes more reclusive as time passes, silently watching Bilbo from afar and wishing he knew how to fix the distance between them.

Years go by and the distance becomes an ache, heavier than the lonesomeness of his youth ever was. Some of the older ladies cluck at him in sympathy when they come by to retrieve a pot or tea kettle. Silver starts to appear in his hair and it’s been 2 years since Bilbo spoke a word to him. Enough is enough.

It’s the middle of spring when he gathers his courage and knocks on the door of Bag End one evening. The door swings open and there’s a weathered old Man at the door. Bilbo pops out from behind, his name a puzzled question. Thorin apologizes for interrupting company but enters, determined to say his peace--only to be further surprised as the smial is full of dwarves! Dwarves who appear just as surprised to see him as he is to see them.

What follows is a whirlwind of greetings and questions and exclaimations. He meets a forgotten sibling. Nephews! A summary of the history of his people. Of a quest. The need for a burglar. And now he’s the heir to the throne of a lost kingdom as well?

It’s too much. He’s not an heir, only a blacksmith. Bilbo is not going, it’s not safe, he’s not a burglar. He storms from the smial, a deep and solemn tune following him all the way back to his room in the forge, echoing long into the night and digging it’s way into his very bones.

In the morning, Bilbo goes charging down the lane, contract trailing in the morning air behind him. So does Thorin.

Who knows if they’ll survive. But if they do, they’ll not be the same. And maybe, at last, they won’t be alone anymore either.


End file.
